


wherever we touch back down

by thespacenico



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Artist Keith (Voltron), College, College AU, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Short & Sweet, Skateboarding, Skater Lance, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:41:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27644963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thespacenico/pseuds/thespacenico
Summary: “What are you looking at?”Lance hits a bump in the pavement and goes tumbling forward, hardly managing to catch himself in time to avoid crashing face-first into the ground. He straightens back up to his full height with a sigh of relief, shooting a half-hearted glare in Keith’s direction when he bursts into laughter. “Dude! That was totally your fault.”“I’m just sitting here,” Keith chuckles, holding his hands up defensively.“Yeah, well, you’re very distracting,” Lance grumbles, retrieving his skateboard from where it had skidded to a stop a few feet away.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 36
Kudos: 497





	wherever we touch back down

**Author's Note:**

> a commission i wrote for [duckie](https://twitter.com/98littleducks) on twitter based on their skater lance au! ♡ she also drew some art for it [here](https://twitter.com/98littleducks/status/1329841126392606721?s=20)!

Lance loves skating.

There’s just something about it—the wind in his hair, the blur of colors overwhelming his vision, the feeling of the wheels scraping across the pavement under his feet—it’s kind of addicting. It’s easy to let go of his thoughts and just exist for a little while, to lose track of time and depend on the color of the sky to know when it’s time to head home. With how busy his classes have kept him this semester, at the very least it’s a nice distraction and a good way to burn off some steam. 

Also, he likes to think it makes him look pretty cool, especially to the cute boy sitting on the curb at the far side of the parking lot. 

This is usually how his evenings go. He has enough self-discipline that he typically does most (if not all) of his homework in the afternoon, leaving the rest of the day free for whatever he feels like. More often than not he winds up in the empty parking lot of a local bookstore not far off campus with his skateboard. Keith almost always joins him provided that he’s not already busy, although either way it frequently involves his nose buried in a sketchbook.

Like now, even after the  _ really _ cool kickflip that Lance just did. He’s been working on it for weeks and finally perfected it, a little recognition would be nice. 

Lance rolls to a stop directly in front of Keith, which wasn’t planned but, in Lance’s opinion, also pretty cool. “You’re not even watching.” 

“Am I supposed to be?” Keith says without looking up, scribbling away. 

“Uh, absolutely you are. History is being made here, and you, my friend, are the only present witness. You’re looking at a future Olympic skateboarder.” 

The corners of Keith’s mouth twitch up into an amused smile, but his head remains bowed. “The Olympics doesn’t have skateboarding.”

“Oh, but it will,” Lance declares, planting his hands on his hips and puffing out his chest. “I, Lance McClain, will be the first ever gold medalist in skateboarding from Cuba  _ and _ the entire world.” 

“That’s nice,” Keith answers dismissively, and Lance huffs, shoulders slumping. “Will you go over there and do another kickflip or whatever it’s called?” 

Lance sighs rather dramatically, arms falling to his sides. “Wow, sending me away to be alone with your precious sketchbook. I am wounded, Keith. Betrayed. I can’t believe—wait.” The toe of his sneaker scrapes across the pavement as he brings himself to an abrupt halt, having already been halfway through pushing off. “What do you mean  _ another  _ kickflip?” 

Keith’s eyes finally flick up from the page he’s been studying intently, smile widening the way it does when he knows he’s been caught. “Aha!” Lance laughs, pointing an accusing finger at him. “So you  _ were _ watching!” 

“I never said I wasn’t,” Keith points out, playfully kicking at Lance’s foot and laughing when he squawks in protest. “What do you think I’ve been drawing this whole time?” 

Lance gasps loudly, at which Keith automatically flips his sketchbook closed and holds it against his chest. “You’re drawing me? Wait, lemme see!” 

“When I’m done,” Keith insists, leaning back protectively. “No sneak peeks.” 

“Fine.” Lance kicks himself away, turning to stick his tongue out at Keith over his shoulder. Keith sticks his tongue out right back, and it’s so utterly trivial and ridiculous but it makes Lance’s chest so positively and unequivocally warm that he has to look away to make sure his heart doesn’t burst. 

It’s funny, really—at first glance most people would probably assume that out of the two of them, Keith is the skater rather than Lance.

Right now Keith is wearing his signature ripped black jeans, his favorite red hoodie hanging loosely over his shoulders and hair tied back into a messy ponytail. Lance likes to tease him for it because it doesn’t really do much to keep the hair out of his face, but that’s mostly just him overcompensating for how good he actually thinks it looks. He can’t deny how well it suits him, the way his bangs fall into his eyes and frame his face perfectly. Most of the time there are a few loose strands that didn’t quite make it into the ponytail and are just long enough to brush over his shoulders. Lance can never tell if those are left out intentionally or not, and frankly he doesn’t care as long as it stays that way. 

In case it wasn’t already clear, Lance spends a lot of time thinking about Keith’s hair. And face. And Keith, in general. 

_ Anyway.  _ That’s beside the point. The point is, Keith looks like the type of guy who’d rather go out and shred than do his homework, so imagine Lance’s surprise when he found out Keith was an animation major working part-time at a bookstore. 

Lance skates in a lazy circle around the parking lot, allowing himself to regroup. He may have just done a perfect kickflip, but now that he’s fully aware of Keith watching him, there’s a mountain of added pressure. His heart skips two beats just thinking about it. This one has to be more than perfect—it has to be  _ epic.  _

He takes a deep breath and exhales, kicking off the ground several times with his right foot to gain some speed before positioning it at the very back of the board. As insignificant as it seems, that’s the most important part, because if the initial kick is off then the rest of the trick is doomed to fail. He bends his knees just slightly in preparation, steels himself, and then halfway across the parking lot, he goes for it.

Everything after the initial jump always seems to go in slow motion, like a scene right out of a movie. The jump, the kick, the landing—it only takes a second or two, but it feels so much longer. Lance’s other foot kicks on instinct, sending the board into a spiral, and as he comes back down he catches it with the toe of his sneaker before it can spin again, planting the wheels back onto the ground. He overshoots the landing a little but manages to use the extra momentum to swivel around and make it look intentional, which means he winds up facing Keith’s direction. 

“I did it!” he cheers, throwing both hands in the air and looking up this time to find Keith actively watching him, which does much more to Lance’s heart than is probably healthy. “I did it, did you see that?” 

“I saw it,” Keith confirms, sending him two thumbs-up and a smile. “Not bad. I guess I’ll see you in the Olympics next year after all.” 

“Awww, you  _ do _ believe in me.” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Keith rolls his eyes, still smiling as he returns to his sketchbook. “Now hush, lemme finish this.” 

“Make me pretty,” Lance calls, letting his arms fall back to his sides and kicking off the ground.

“No promises,” Keith calls back, and Lance smiles to himself. 

For a while they’re content to do their own thing, falling into a comfortable silence while the sun starts to set behind the treeline. Usually Lance feels compelled to fill the silence, whether by chatting about his day, recapping the last Netflix documentary he watched, humming his favorite song, you name it. He’s never really felt that way with Keith, though. Keith listens to his rambling very intently, he always does, and maybe that’s why the quiet seems so different with him. Lance already knows that Keith would listen, and that’s enough for him to feel heard before he even has to say anything. 

Plus, he’s cute when he’s focusing, so Lance doesn’t want to break his concentration. 

He settles for skating around the parking lot in no particular path or direction, sneaking looks at Keith pretty much every chance he gets. Keith is hunched over his sketchbook completely, hair obscuring his face (much to Lance’s dismay) while he scribbles furiously across the page. His legs are stretched out in front of him, toes tapping against each other as he absently wiggles his feet back and forth. 

It’s endearing, the things he does when he’s occupied. Sometimes he chews on his lip, or bounces his leg up and down, or rubs the side of his index finger with his thumb. He insists on denying it when anyone points it out to him, even though he does them  _ all the time.  _ Lance would know, because he spends a lot of time looking at Keith. Probably a little  _ too  _ much time, but what can he say? Technically it’s Keith’s fault. 

“What are you looking at?” 

Lance hits a bump in the pavement and goes tumbling forward, hardly managing to catch himself in time to avoid crashing face-first into the ground. He straightens back up to his full height with a sigh of relief, shooting a half-hearted glare in Keith’s direction when he bursts into laughter. “Dude! That was totally your fault.” 

“I’m just sitting here,” Keith chuckles, holding his hands up defensively. 

“Yeah, well, you’re very distracting,” Lance grumbles, retrieving his skateboard from where it had skidded to a stop a few feet away.

“Yeah?” Keith’s tone is light and teasing, but it’s hard to miss the subtle, questioning look on his face. “How so?” 

Lance neglects to answer the question, instead pushing himself forward onto the board and guiding himself toward Keith. “How goes the drawing?” 

“Anatomy is stupid,” Keith deadpans, and a surprised laugh slips out of Lance’s mouth.

“That bad, huh?” 

Keith sighs, dropping his pencil into his lap and stretching his arms over his head. “I don’t know, I think I just need a break.” 

Lance hops off the skateboard, letting it bump to a stop against his ankle. “So, take a break.”

“Just sitting here is boring, though,” Keith pouts. 

“Don’t just sit here, then. I can teach you some tricks.” 

“Huh?”

Lance smiles, kicking the board up and into his hand in one smooth, practiced motion.  _ Nice,  _ he thinks to himself. “You wanna try?” 

Keith’s eyes widen slightly before he makes a face, eyeing it nervously. “I dunno, Lance. I’m not very good with—wheels.” 

“I’m sorry, what was that? This is coming from the guy who rides a motorcycle to campus every day?” 

“That’s different!” Keith protests lightly, sighing when Lance sticks his hand out expectantly. “Lance—” 

“C’mon, it’s not as hard as it looks,” Lance assures him, drumming his fingers on the board. “And I promise I won’t let you fall off.” 

Keith presses his lips together, eyes flicking several times between Lance and the skateboard before sighing again. “Fine,” he relents, setting his things aside. “But you better keep your promise or I’m suing for emotional distress.” 

“Alright, drama queen,” Lance snorts. His heart leaps in his chest as Keith’s hand slides into his, but he quickly pulls him to his feet and lets go before he can forget to. “Seriously, you’ll be fine.” 

He passes off his board to Keith, who gingerly takes it into his hands and seems to study it for a second or two, then carefully sets it on the ground. Lance watches as he slowly lowers one foot onto it, giving it a few experimental pushes back and forth. After a moment of deliberation, Keith looks back up. “I’m gonna fall.” 

Lance can’t help but laugh, stepping forward so that he and Keith are on opposite sides of the board. “I already told you, I won’t let you. Here.” He almost hesitates but finds the courage to extend his arm toward Keith. “You can hold onto me if it makes you feel better.” 

“It’s not like I said I’m scared,” Keith grumbles, but reaches out and tentatively wraps his fingers around Lance’s wrist, looking down to reposition his foot. Lance keeps him steady as he steps fully onto the skateboard, fingers tightening in the fabric of Lance’s jacket. Keith lets out a breath, blinking down at his feet for a moment before looking up at Lance. “Now what?” 

“Do you favor your left foot or your right?” 

“Um… right, I guess.”

“Okay, so that’s the one you want to push the board with. Your left foot can just chill up here at the front, like this.” Lance gently nudges Keith’s foot out of the way and places his own at the front to demonstrate. Keith obediently follows suit when Lance moves out of the way, and Lance nods in satisfaction. 

“So you’re gonna use your right foot to propel yourself forward, as fast or as slow as you want. I guess we should start slow for now, and once you get used to it we can add some speed. Try not to think too much about falling. Obviously we’re trying to avoid that but the more you think about it the more likely it is you’ll just psych yourself out and lose your balance. And careful that your left foot doesn’t shift too close to the front edge or you’ll end up tipping yourself over.”

“Alright, shortie.” 

“Oh, and you wanna make sure that—” Lance cuts himself off, blinking in confusion and looking up to find Keith biting down on his bottom lip, trying and failing miserably to hide his grin. “What did you just call me?” 

Keith’s smile only widens, but he shakes his head. “Nothing.” 

Lance squints at him.  _ “Wow.  _ Okay, I see. You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” 

“Why yes, I am,” Keith agrees solemnly. “I am really enjoying learning how to skateboard from my friend. My shorter, not-as-tall-as-me friend. My less tall friend.” 

Lance stares at him. “You,” he says, “are ridiculous.” 

“Maybe, but I’m still taller than you,” Keith taunts, sticking his tongue out. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Lance rolls his eyes as Keith laughs, feigning annoyance despite being hopelessly amused. With how often he teases Keith for being shorter than him by an inch or two, he kind of deserves this. “Laugh it up, pal. The second you step off that skateboard it’s back to shortie land for you.” 

Keith hums. “I’ll just stay on the skateboard forever, then.”

“Fine,” Lance shrugs. “But you’ll have to use it all by yourself.” 

Keith literally squeaks when Lance pulls his arm out of his grasp and takes two steps back. “Wait! Waitwaitwait, okay I’ll stop, Lance please don’t let me fall—” 

“Alright, okay!” Lance bursts into laughter, immediately stepping forward and allowing Keith to grab onto his sleeve again with a sigh of relief. “Dude, I was just kidding.” 

“And I’m just trying to be cautious,” Keith retorts. “I can’t afford to sprain my wrist or something. I literally depend on my hands for my entire education.” 

“Pffft, you _ — _ alright, first of all,  _ cautious?  _ Who are you and what have you done with Keith?” 

“He’s right here,” Keith huffs, blowing his bangs out of his eyes. “Holding onto your arm for dear life.” 

“And second of all, all that stuff about your hands—that’s weird, Keith. You’re weird.” 

“You’re the one who’s making it weird!”

“Are you gonna skate or not!” 

“I’m  _ trying,”  _ Keith retorts, at this point so breathless with laughter that he hardly manages to get his last word out. “God, you’re impossible.” 

“It’s a gift,” Lance answers sagely, heart fluttering wildly in his chest at the sight of Keith’s dimples and crinkled eyes. He loves being able to make Keith laugh like this, so openly and genuinely for someone who’s usually so closed-off and reserved. Honestly, it makes him happy just knowing that Keith trusts him enough to let his walls down when they’re together. 

_ Together,  _ he thinks a bit forlornly, still watching Keith as his laughter subsides and he looks down, readying himself. 

“Okay, okay, I’m gonna do it. I got this.” 

Lance forces a smile back onto his face, nodding encouragingly. “That’s the spirit.” 

Keith takes a deep breath, lowering his right foot to the ground and giving one very firm, decided push. He makes it about ten or fifteen feet across the parking lot, Lance following alongside him the whole way. The resulting smile on Keith’s face is entirely too pleased for Lance’s poor heart to handle. “How was that?” 

“Amazing,” Lance responds, nodding very seriously. “Incredible. Show-stopping. You’re a natural.” 

Keith smacks lightly at his arm and Lance makes an affronted sound. “I’m just getting a feel for it, okay? Punk.” 

Lance squawks indignantly. “You’re the punk!” 

“Psh, right,” Keith snorts, pushing off the ground a second time and causing Lance to nearly trip over his own feet in his haste to follow along.  _ “I’m  _ the punk, not the person who sleeps with his skateboard at the foot of his bed and rides it to class every morning and claims he’s gonna be the first ever Olympic gold medalist in—” 

The skateboard catches on a wide crack in the pavement, which is fine, because Keith corrects his balance so that he doesn’t go toppling forward. Except he must end up overcorrecting a little, because the next second he’s stumbling backward with a yelp as the skateboard shoots out from underneath his feet. Lance is there in an instant, catching him with an arm around his waist as Keith instinctively latches onto his shoulders and the board goes skidding away, wheels scraping loudly across the pavement.

Neither of them are paying much attention to the skateboard, though. Instead they’re staring at each other, completely frozen and shocked into silence, save for the sound of the skateboard knocking into the curb and sliding to a stop. Lance’s heart is racing, and he’d like to say it’s from the effort it’s taking to hold Keith upright but the reality is that it’s taking virtually no effort at all, not when Keith’s arms are practically draped around him and their chests are nearly pressed together. He is in much closer proximity to Keith than his brain was prepared to process. 

Keith’s eyes are wide and cheeks flushed a pretty pink, mouth curved into a small, adorable “o” of surprise. Lance wants to kiss it right off his face. 

He swallows thickly and licks his lips, distantly noticing the way Keith’s eyes seem to drift their way. “Uh,” he says eloquently, unaware of what’s enabling him to even speak when he can’t seem to tear his gaze away from Keith. “This might sound kind of crazy, but—if I were hypothetically thinking about kissing you right now, what would you s—”

“Yes,” Keith blurts, and that’s all the confirmation Lance needs to lean down and do just that.

It’s hesitant at first, like they’re both afraid of the other pulling away at the last second and pushing them away. But it quickly becomes clear that that’s not the case, as Keith’s arms relax around Lance’s shoulders and Lance sighs into him, securing his arm around Keith’s waist and sliding his fingers through his hair. 

Keith kisses him like he’s been waiting to do it for forever, the implications of which have Lance’s mind running in circles trying to make sense of it all. He only hopes that he gets the same message across, cradling Keith’s cheek against his palm and leaving it there, heart soaring out of his chest with each eager press of their lips together. They’re actually  _ kissing,  _ and Lance swears he must have fallen off the skateboard himself and been knocked out, because he can’t believe this is really happening. 

They break apart slowly, and as Lance’s eyes flutter open he can’t help but smile when he finds Keith staring back at him, eyes still just as wide as before and a little starstruck.

Lance hums, tucking a flyaway piece of Keith’s hair behind his ear, just like he’s always wanted to. “And just in time for the sunset, too.” 

Keith actually giggles, light and breathless. “I swear you’re the cheesiest person I’ve ever met.” 

“You must really like cheese then,” Lance says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and grinning when Keith wrinkles his nose but is unable to hold back his own smile.

“I’m lactose intolerant.” 

“And yet.”

“Shut up,” Keith laughs, and uses his grip on Lance’s shoulders to pull him back down and kiss him again. 

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.thespacenico.tumblr.com)!  
> [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/thespacenico/)!  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/thespacenico)!  
> 


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